


Stalemate

by Carpe Natem (Demeanor)



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Boot Worship, Brat Dismas, Bruises, Choking, Cruel Tardif, Cuckolding, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Hate Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Marking, Masochism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, PWP, Possessive Behavior, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sadism, Service Top Reynauld, Slight fluff by the end, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M, Throat Bulge, Verbal Abuse, slight belly bulge, slight blood kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27277585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demeanor/pseuds/Carpe%20Natem
Summary: After an expedition gone wrong, Masochistic Dismas is a brat and Tardif has to teach Reynauld what to do with brats.Little does Tardif realize that he needs this just as badly as Dismas does.
Relationships: Dismas/Reynauld (Darkest Dungeon), Tardif/Dismas/Reynauld
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Stalemate

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this for _two months_ and am finally satisfied enough with it. It's another doozy, and I can't believe I'm posting this. 
> 
> Tags are serious, Tardif is not a gentleman. He's intended to be very unlikeable at the start, but a lot of the rougher tags ease up by the end. The dub-con tag is mostly on Reynauld's behalf, who is a bit inexperienced with this sort of stress-relief, though they work out a decent dynamic by the end.

**Stalemate**

It was late and he’d already been drinking. He’d been kicked out of the brothel too many times to count and he hadn’t actually gotten off in over a week, busy that he had been with the young whelp sending him out on mission after mission, the noble brat. He was horny, agitated, not  _ desperate  _ but damn near close to it. 

These were the half-truths Tardif chided with himself, the grounds on which he deflected any and all accountability tonight, the basis for which he could be reasoned into  _ this  _ with. 

Quite frankly, he didn’t give a shit how he got caught up in this situation. Dismas stood before him, scowling over the fringe of that stupid scarf he always wore, and his Crusader fuck was at his side, eyes anywhere but Tardif, who smirked at that with unrestrained malice. The holier-than-thou priest with his sideways ideals and cherry-picked morals looked more out of place than Tardif had ever seen him in the tiny confines of the empty armory. It was after hours, the Blacksmith having gone to the tavern to drink himself into a stupor long ago, and the shadows were chased away by the lamplight. 

“You couldn’t have found somewhere… better suited?” Reynauld asked to the empty space next to Tardif, who merely snorted in response. 

“Nope.”

“What about the brothel?” came the irritating follow up from the so-called holy man.

“Been banned.” For reasons best left to discretion, the prudes they passed as whores here in the Hamlet refused to welcome him or his coin, gratuitous as it was. As far as Tardif was concerned, if the Heir wanted his brothel maids unsullied and unsoiled by certain  _ deviant tastes _ , then he shouldn’t have brought them to the Hamlet in the first place. What good were they if they couldn’t take a heavy hand or heated word after he’d spent a long day in the Weald?

“The tavern?”

“What, and spend my precious  _ coin _ ?” Tardif spit yellow at their feet and scowled. “Don’t forget who asked for this.”

The swordsman sighed and looked around, clearly unimpressed with the arrangements, but Tardif couldn’t be bothered. The two men had approached  _ him  _ at the tavern after all, offering him an unexpected but more than satisfying proposition; apparently the little thief had a masochistic streak that his holy fuck toy had no idea how to fulfill. In a way Tardif had already fulfilled,  _ once _ . He remembered the way Dismas narrowed his eyes with hate for the Bounty Hunter, who had just snorted a derisive laugh through his nose and finished his beer with gusto. 

It was a mutually beneficial agreement, really, but he’d never let this  _ outlaw  _ think that. And if the Crusader were here to watch Tardif put his precious sweetheart in his lowly place, knees in the dirt and ass in the air, then it was all the better for Tardif. 

They had done this once before, many moons ago, right after the sodding Heir had denied him all rightful claim to the thief’s bounty, when Dismas had been drunk and broken and Tardif had been drunk and angry. He wasn’t even sure that the old brigand bastard had remembered what happened the next day, save for his sore ass and the bruises that littered his scrawny body. The Bounty Hunter hadn’t  _ regretted _ it, per se, though he had sworn to never stoop so low again and cared not to reflect on it.

_ Tonight _ , however, in a lust-fueled fit of fuckitall, he allowed himself an exception.

“Can we get on with things?” Dismas rolled his eyes, delicious hate still dripping from his voice. “I’m already sick of looking at your ugly mug.”

Tardif considered that for a moment, grunted, then set his jaw and removed his large leather glove, finger by finger. It was a stiff material, slightly worn around the knuckles from his habit of punching things, old but sturdy and reinforced, tanned and boiled and hardened with a workman’s wax for added pain unto his enemies. He weighed the fabric in his palm for a moment…

...then scored the scowling Highwayman against the face with it.

Dismas recoiled from the smack, falling back into the wooden wall of the armory, the harsh  _ slap  _ of the leather hitting skin echoing in the small room for a split second. When he turned his head back to face Tardif, his signature nonchalant scowl had turned into an angry grimace, Tardif was pleased to see that his entire cheek was beet red.

“Your choirboy mutt might let you get away with talking to  _ him  _ like that,” the Bounty Hunter growled with a sadistic smile; if he couldn't get his due coin from the man, then he would glean gilded whimpers instead and savor tonight for all it was worth. “But  _ I  _ won’t.”

He raised his arm again, leather glove heavy in his hand, and watched as Dismas flinched -- then was stopped abruptly. Tardif swung around to the blasted prig in white, who held his arm with a firm grip and a mean glare that made Tardif laugh. Did the holy man really think to stop him?  _ So high and mighty _ . They stared at each other for a long moment, tension filling the stale air with something  _ alive _ ; Reynauld seemed as poised and ready for violence as Tardif, now if only he could  _ aim  _ it correctly, his little lovebird rogue wouldn’t be coming to  _ him  _ for punishment in the first place.

“It’s okay, Rey,” came a lowered voice to their side. Dismas was rubbing his cheek, brows furrowed and voice gruff, all bravado as usual. He even managed a fragile smirk past his clearly stinging face and said, “Really, I barely felt a thing.”

Tardif rolled his eyes and yanked from the priest’s grip, who let him go reluctantly but refused to look away.  _ Fine _ . Let him look. Let him learn a thing or two.

“I’ll make sure you feel the next one for days, then.”

It wasn’t an empty threat and he watched the smaller man shiver, swallow, chew his lower lip. Tardif knew his type. The filthy criminal  _ needed  _ punishment,  _ craved  _ it, and that was something his doting dullard of a companion couldn’t seem to get through his thick, Light-trenched head.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Dismas?” Reynauld asked sweetly, sickeningly. 

Perhaps he should have the priest wait outside if he was this intent on stalling the inevitable, but instead, Tardif just scoffed and said, “Oh he wants it alright. Just look at how  _ badly  _ he wants it.”

His smile was cruel as he gestured to Dismas’ state of turmoil against the wooden wall, cheeks flushed red and pants pitched tight. Without the heavy coat the brigand always wore, it only made his slim frame more apparent, more  _ obvious _ , and left him with nothing to hide his shame behind. Tardif watched with lucid self-satisfaction as Reynauld finally tore his gaze from him, the  _ prat _ , to glance at Dismas hunched over himself in embarrassment.

Dismas took a breath, glanced to the Crusader, then looked down. “...Sorry, Rey.”

That was more than enough permission than Tardif cared to have, and swung his arm to smack the other side of Dismas’ face, the scarred side, with a hefty backhand. It immediately smarted his skin and the smaller man stumbled back again, eyes pricked glossy from the sharp welt when he managed to open them.

“Aye, thought you said I would  _ feel  _ that one,” the grin he gave was lopsided from the sting, the confidence marred by the mist in his eyes. “Am I to get a back-rub next?”

His infamous mouth, filled with barbs and false bluster and too much hot air, would be better suited elsewhere. Tardif would shut him up, eventually, but in the meantime simply rode the wave of aggression that overtook him -- something about Dismas brought out a special kind of ire in him, a heated hostility that boiled his blood in an addictive way. He stepped closer, looming over the petty thief, whose mettle was tested and found wanting as he inched against the wall at his back, away from Tardif’s approach.

“ _ Pathetic _ ,” Tardif closed the distance between them, greatly enjoying the hitch in the other man's breath below him, caught in his chest by fear or anticipation or Light only knows; Tardif cared not for the reason, merely that this skittish kitten of a man knew his place as prey. Prey to succumb to Tardif's will. "As usual, you're all bark, brigand. No  _ bite _ ."

As he said the word, his bare hand flew up to Dismas' neck, felt the man's pulse flutter at his harsh touch as he clenched around the slender throat, the slight stubble scratching at his knuckles.  _ This,  _ this felt  _ good.  _ This felt  _ right.  _ He could feel firsthand the way his breath was trapped there, Adam's apple bobbing against the strain as it tugged at his skin, and Tardif pressed it still with his palm. Dismas choked at that, pleasantly, and gasped his name which was dirt on his foul lips.

“ _ Quiet yourself _ ,” Tardif snarled, yellow teeth bared. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

To prove a point, he curled his fingers in a harder grip, relishing the pounding pulse, the wheeze that escaped, the gloss beading in the corners of his mud-colored eyes. His gaunt face was turning red with the lack of air in his lungs, his trachea squeezed tighter and tighter as the moments passed. 

It would be so easy,  _ too easy _ , to kill him and be done with it. To drag his body to Vvulf and collect on his handsome reward, then never see the Hamlet and its foul residents again. Hell, he could even still fuck him if he were warm enough, and the rat of a man seemed able to read his thoughts, to see the glint of gleeful murder in his gaze, tempting him with the promise of payment. A panic set in to his reddening eyes then and he clawed at Tardif’s wrist, nearly throwing him off and forcing him to use his other hand as well. 

With two hands, there was no question that Dismas was  _ his  _ for the taking, dead or otherwise. He watched the color drain from the rogue’s lips, watched his eyes squeeze shut, watched his mouth gaping for air that wouldn’t come, and Tardif felt his cock harden at the man’s fight for his life, felt the sadistic flame burning them both alive.

The brigand bastard moved from Tardif’s large, stubby wrists to paw at his face with harmless hands,  _ blindly  _ almost, until they found an eye and hovered there, as if in a threat. 

Tardif could not be threatened, not  _ now  _ with the slimy eel of a man firmly in his unforgiving grasp, life or death at the Bounty Hunter’s mere will, writhing and leaking tears and pitching Tardif’s pants. He would  _ savor  _ this moment, draw it out, even if it cost him an eye. The thumb at his socket still hovered, a muscle memory, a last ditch effort by a body ravaged of air perhaps, but made no move to dig in despite the waxen lips, despite the claw marks bleeding at Tardif’s wrists.

The spike in his groin only tightened his hands, then, made him squeeze  _ harder  _ \--

“ _ Tardif _ ,” came a gruff warning behind him, as if there was anything the Crusader could do about his little pet being snuffed from the world at this very moment.

He was the Bounty Hunter’s plaything, now.

To his surprise, Dismas pulled back from Tardif’s eye to wave a thin hand at Reynauld, staying him like an animal made to listen to his bidding. It was an embarrassment, and Tardif held more disgust than pity for the Crusader, but felt his cock swell further from the notion.

The thief was  _ enjoying  _ this.

With a scoff, Tardif released him and Dismas fell to the floor, fell to his  _ knees,  _ and limply propped himself up with shaking hands, drinking in air like a whiskey. It was a desperate sound, him refilling his empty lungs, and Tardif took a moment to admire it, to admire the way his bowed back heaved at his feet, before he lifted a leg and brought the sole of his foot down on that curved spine. With a rough stomp, Tardif pressed Dismas’ upper body to the floor with his boot between his shoulder blades, ass up, face flat against the dirt-encrusted floor, and ground the heel into his thin bird bones, noting the way the outlaw squirmed like an insect beneath the weight. 

“Show your better half just how much you love this,” Tardif spat, perverse venom in his voice. “And  _ lick my boot _ .”

“What?” Dismas froze beneath his heel, and Tardif scowled in irritation. He didn’t like to repeat himself and refused to, instead moving his foot from the maggot’s spine to the back of his neck. With his frail being in comparison, it wouldn’t take more than a simple misstep on Tardif’s part to  _ end  _ this game of cat and mouse. The sorry sod got the hint, bruised face scraping the rough wood, rear wiggling with a feeble struggle, and finally shouted, “Okay!”

That was all the convincing Dismas needed, apparently, as he tried to lift up beneath Tardif's weight, pressed against the sole of the heavy boot until the Bounty Hunter gave him just enough breathing room to move closer. The thief hovered there, shamed, blood-dusted eyes flicking up to Tardif's empty ones as if awaiting some jest, some teasing word to rescind the command. 

None came. 

"Hurry up, fool. I want it cleaned by that sharp tongue of yours."

Dismas huffed and looked away, looked down at the toe of Tardif's leather boot, face flushed red and mouth in a grimace. The bruises at his thin neck were already forming, angry red things that Tardif knew from experience would mark the thug for weeks. Mark him as Tardif’s  _ prize _ . He could latch onto the Crusader’s side all he wanted, tuck his neck beneath his scarf, flaunt around town and pretend to forget this, but those marks would remain. They would remain until the next time Dismas came crawling back, begging for more in so many words -- if not in body then in mind. 

He ducked his head without any further prodding, eyes squeezed shut and ears red with shame, parted his lips, stuck out his tongue and  _ licked.  _

Tardif felt it like a physical thing, straight to his groin, as the conman inched his tongue up his boot in one long swipe. It left a wet trail against the slick material, glossy and  _ filthy  _ and Tardif grunted in pleasure at the sight. The man at his feet grimaced at the taste, which only jolted the pleasure further into that heady heat at Tardif’s core, and pulled back as if finished to look up at him. The pinpricks of red and purple beneath the bags of his begging eyes made Tardif stifle a groan.

“ _ Again _ ,” he growled, irritated that he even had to say as much.

Swallowing hard, hard enough for Tardif to see that bruised Adam’s apple bob in anxious reluctance, Dismas leaned back down and repeated the act, repeated the degrading show for the Bounty Hunter and the Crusader alike. At that thought, Tardif looked over and saw Reynauld more uncomfortable than ever, back stiff, brows furrowed, confused,  _ disgusted  _ maybe. Tardif grinned wickedly, glanced from the prostrate Highwayman kneeling at his feet, tongue lapping up the leather of his boots over and over like a dog for its master, glanced to the Crusader watching in abject horror with reddened cheeks and wide eyes as his darling cutthroat debased himself --

\-- and Tardif couldn’t help it. 

With a practiced hand, he unbuckled his belt and pulled himself free of his pants in one fluid motion. The growl that came from his throat was a gutteral thing, harsh and  _ wanting _ , as he watched the thief lick his boot clean as he was told, hand working himself fully erect. It was a fantasy of his, Tardif wasn’t ashamed to say, borne the moment that blasted Heir refused him his prize. 

He’d watch the fucking ratfink prance around town, as if forgiven of his crimes, absolved of his bounty, a new man free from guilt, and Tardif would  _ burn.  _ The whores at the brothel knew his vengeance, his anger, at a mark yet missed, dragged from his fingers and allowed to roam freely, like meat dangled in front of a rabid dog -- close enough to drive him to a frenzy. He’d watch this wanted man take off for expeditions in hopes of a painful demise, but the universe shunned his wicked thoughts and Dismas would always return the  _ hero _ . 

It was sickening, and if Tardif developed even sicker fantasies because of it, then who could blame him?

To his side, the holy man made a noise of discomfort and Tardif looked to him, hand never faltering at his cock, and he grinned. If the priest were squeamish now, if he were the tiniest bit  _ jealous  _ of his bitch lapping at Tardif’s feet, then the Crusader would be in a world of mortification here in a moment as an even stronger perverse hunger flickered to life in Tardif. 

It wasn’t enough to have the Highwayman this low, this  _ pathetic _ . He needed  _ more,  _ needed to see the wily man debased and brought lower, humiliated in front of his holy toy of a man who merely stood by and was forced to watch.

“ _ Enough _ ,” Tardif spoke and the man below him sighed in relief, as did the one at his side -- but there was no relief to be found in this. Not yet. “Sit up.”

The clever rat caught on before his religious counterpart with his mind like mud in the gutter, and Tardif grinned when the realization struck the small man like an open palm, mouth agape and eyes flicking to the Bounty Hunter’s slicked cock. “That’s right,” murmured Tardif as Dismas sat up enough for him to grab the greasy black hair, grip harsh, loosening some strands with the sheer force of his need. Tardif yanked the hair roughly, forcing Dismas’ neck back, his red-welted face up, exposed. From this angle, he could see the heave of the man’s slight chest, up and down with his nerves, see the pulse point at his neck throbbing where Tardif’s thumb had been not long ago.

“You willing to risk that, mate?” The rogue actually had the nerve to flash a smile of teeth up at him, and Tardif released his throbbing prick to react with a fierce backhand. He cried out like a kicked dog, momentarily stunned, unable to recoil away or move even an inch for the hand fisted in his hair, keeping him still and upright. 

“We can do this with or without all your teeth intact.”

Tardif enjoyed the pained noise, enjoyed the knit of those thin, dark brows, the new red that blossomed on the gaunt cheek, and slapped the other side for a matching set. Dismas cried out again, hair pulling from the force, smack resonating around them, followed by a wet laugh from the bruised man. His lip had been split, pouring a thin line of red down his chin, and Tardif enjoyed the look of it, the bloodied lip  _ fitting  _ for the scrawny criminal. 

“What’s it gonna be?” Tardif prompted.

Dismas shivered, either at the low threat or the pain, head still pulled back and bruised neck bared. He was stalling, taking his sweet time answering, so Tardif tried a different approach and grasped the base of his dick, bobbing free in the space between them, and slapped it against the reddened cheek. 

It held none of the pain of his palm, but all of the humiliation and  _ more _ , Tardif reasoned.

As intended, Dismas squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment, tried to turn from the smear of precum that Tardif marked him with, but he just tightened his grip and held the brigand in place. 

If the Crusader were still watching, then all the better.

He did it again to the other side of the man’s face, cuffing his erection against the stubble there with a dull slap, besmirching the sod with more wetness leaking from his blunted dickhead. Dismas bit his bleeding lip, ears flushed, and it scattered the stain of red over his bottom lip, which caught Tardif’s morbid interest. 

“Open your mouth, thief.”

Like Tardif expected,  _ hoped  _ for, the bloody brigand was stubborn and clamped his mouth shut in order to keep some semblance of dignity. Tardif would strip it of him and more, and callously grabbed his chin with his free hand, squeezing the man’s jaw like one would a defiant mutt, until it forced his bloodied mouth open. Satisfied, Tardif enjoyed the view for a moment, then felt confident enough to release Dismas’ hair to stroke himself back to full hardness, keeping the man’s mouth open and in place with a punishing grip.

“Bite me, and this will only be worse for you.” At that, the thug exhaled a breath through his nose, as if a laugh, but then slowly gave a single, shallow nod. The thrill of the hunt excited Tardif to no end, but nothing compared to the thrill of resigned  _ submission  _ after a fight, and a large bead of precum welled at his tip at the thought. 

Slowly, knowing the vile thug was a liar and barely more than a wild beast at heart, Tardif grabbed his thick shaft and inched it towards Dismas’ open, bleeding mouth. He held it there, throbbing cockhead parting those lips, and grunted from the force of restraint not to fuck his skull numb already. Light be  _ damned _ , spit mingled with blood and dripped down the man’s chin like a wanton whore, spilling into Tardif’s palm still gripped tight at his jaw. 

Dismas closed his muddy eyes as Tardif smeared the gushing precum over his lips with a swipe of his tip, relishing the way it mixed with the man’s blood.

His resolve was crumbling, then unexpectedly  _ broken  _ when a pink tongue met his cockhead, slow and languid as it explored the thickness there, as it dipped to the leaking slit of Tardif’s tip, teasing more from him. The Bounty Hunter inhaled sharply; the lowly dog  _ wanted  _ the taste of his cock, and he would give him more than he could handle. 

With a sudden thrust, ignoring the scrape of teeth in his surprise, Tardif pushed his straining erection deep into Dismas’ waiting mouth, whose eyes flung open and who tried to pull back from the force of it, but Tardif held him still then looked to the Crusader. 

“The  _ mouth  _ on this one,” he said almost casually to the holy man, watching on with wide, angry eyes, pupils blown with barely contained lust or violence, Tardif wasn’t sure and frankly he didn’t give a damn. His  _ lover’s  _ mouth felt too good around Tardif’s cock and he buried himself in it, then groaned before pulling out. “I’m sure you never get tired of shutting him up.” Without missing a beat, Tardif thrust in again, this time without the presence of teeth as Dismas was ready for him. 

He knew from their last encounter that the whore of a rogue could take the  _ entirety  _ of him at once, gulp him down and ask for more, so Tardif wasn’t gentle. Not that he would have been regardless. The blunt of his head rammed the back of Dismas’ throat and he winced, gagged, but Tardif held him still enough to grind against that supple wall beyond the flat of his tongue. As he did, he heard and  _ felt  _ Dismas choke out a low groan around the fat mast filling his mouth, dripping more slick straight down his throat. Tardif let out a guttural sound in return, rubbing the brigand’s nose against the thick curls at his groin, watching the tears prick back in those eyes that looked up at him.

“See this, Crusader?” Tardif grit out, haltingly. He tilted Dismas’ chin, forcefully, and rolled his hips, inching his cock further down his throat, knowing full well that the small man couldn’t breathe past it. “See how much your whore loves this?”

The tears fell then, beaded past the corners as the lowly mutt squeezed his eyes shut again, clearly humiliated but unable to hide the full bulge of his pants as Tardif pulled out and fucked back into his throat. It was just enough for Dismas to get a breath, to keep him from passing out on his dick -- which would have been plenty fine for Tardif, but he wanted to make an example for the idiot priest. 

Consider it an act of kindness.

At that, he released his jaw then, trusting that Dismas wanted this  _ bad  _ enough to willingly keep still and open for Tardif to fuck his face, and moved his hand lower to the bruised neck. The cocksucker stiffened, surely worried the Bounty Hunter intended to choke him again, but instead he just felt as the firm head of his erection bulged in and out of his throat, visible every time Dismas swallowed him down. 

A groan, this time not from either of them, but from the holy man watching on, who still had that angry, jealous look, but now with a clenched jaw and hard dick outlined in his pants.

Tardif shot him a smirk, bottoming out in a steady rhythm against the criminal’s bleeding lips, spittle and blood pouring down his chin which now covered the bigger man’s scrotum as it slapped forward with every thrust. 

“Bet you didn’t know your boy could suck cock this  _ good _ ,” came the halting barb, Tardif struggling to keep composure as his legs shook, as that pressure built. Having an audience, and such a  _ blessed _ one at that, made this go so much quicker that he had to slow his hips as they ground into Dismas’ face to keep control. “Bet you’re  _ so fucking  _ careful with him. No wonder he needed me to set him straight.” He gave one last harsh thrust and stayed there, grinding his weeping dick down the thief's throat inch by inch, summoning more tears from the smaller man as he cut off his air. The hard outline of his head was swelled in his neck, still tilted and open to the larger man for Reynauld to watch with that fervid look of his.

Before he pulled out, he gave the scrawny thief one final  _ slap  _ on the face, not as harsh as the last ones, chock full of Tardif’s shaft as he was, simply just to remind him of his lowly place swallowing everything Tardif would give him. 

When he did finally pull out and released Dismas entirely -- to which the broken man bent over and gagged, then heaved in air again and rubbed at his abused throat, now battered inside and out -- Tardif’s member was covered in bloody spittle from base to tip and he relished the sight. Clumsily tucking himself back into his undone pants, he glanced to the Crusader who had a hand at his groin, whether to hide it from Tardif or to touch himself. As if the Bounty Hunter gave a rat’s ass. 

He whistled, much like if he were calling a mutt, and said, “Get up.”

Dismas rushed to comply and Tardif smirked at that, the tears drying on his sharp cheeks and the length of his neck raw. He liked the other man better this way.

He was almost attractive like this.

“On the workbench,” Tardif huffed, and after long enough of having his throat tortured inside and out, the brat of a hero didn’t think to question. Maybe it was his fear, maybe it was his awakened need to submit, Tardif wasn’t sure and didn’t  _ care _ , so long as Dismas did as he commanded.

The rogue scrambled to his feet, unsteady, eyes half-lidded and pants tight, and glanced at the workbench Tardif had motioned to; it was the Blacksmith’s bench, filled with metal scraps and papers and shit the Bounty Hunter didn’t have a mind for at the moment. When Dismas hesitated, suddenly too polite and overly-considerate for the baseless cutthroat he knew the man to be, Tardif stepped forward in his stead and whisked his arm across the tabletop roughly, violently.

The metal, the papers, the glass and pens and ink fell to the floor in a pile. 

Tardif cared not and shoved Dismas towards it, forcing him to step clumsily past the mess. The Bounty Hunter was missing his helmet, his gloves, soon to be his pants, and was  _ impatient --  _ there were no other words for it, frustratingly. As a man of the hunt, of the back and forth tedium of waiting for his prey to slip up and falter, as an opportunist looking to collect coin on a lazy mistake or overconfidence, Tardif was surprisingly  _ impatient  _ like he had never been before, not even with the whores of the Hamlet.

He was impatient to make Dismas  _ his  _ once more.

The stark black hair, the narrowed brown-almost-onyx eyes, the god-forsaken  _ sneer  _ as if he were above it all. He had dreamt about it before, shamelessly, as he drifted off to sleep and had nothing better to think about pre-slumber. Dismas was a different breed of prey, one Tardif might feel the need to boast of his conquests, of how he brought the villain to his knees just to guzzle his cum and beg for more.

A trophy of a fuckhole if the damned Heir denied Tardif of all else regarding the man, at the very least he could be awarded with the thief’s half-lidded eyes as he screamed the Bounty Hunter’s name in front of his beloved Crusader.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the holy priest looking on from the sidelines move his hand in a quick stroking motion against his groin. It spiked the filthy urgency in Tardif, the white hot pleasure shoving Dismas towards the table, and he knew the Crusader was invested more than he’d ever care to admit.

It drove Tardit wild, lit the animalistic fury in him, knowing just how badly this Reynauld prig wanted to watch his precious Highwayman get slapped and degraded and  _ fucked  _ by Tardif, though he would never say as much. Too high and mighty, too  _ prissy  _ to ever put to words. It was all over his face, though, all over the hard dick cupped by a reluctant hand that seemed to jerk involuntarily. Yes, Tardif would show the holy man  _ exactly  _ what his beloved bitch wanted and  _ needed,  _ and he would do so with the same gusto that he might cashing in Dismas’ bounty if he were allowed.

It wasn’t Tardif’s preference, but his hand was forced. Hand was forced into Dismas’ hair, hand was forced to drag him to the workman’s bench, hand was  _ forced _ to bend the thief in two against the hard surface. Tardif’s fingers worked the man’s belt and fly open quickly, and didn’t miss the way the rogue’s hips wiggled just slightly, just enough to help the fabric down and expose a plain of tan skin. 

He snorted at that.  _ Eager whelp. _

Dismas  _ needed  _ to be fucked, to be debased and punished and  _ used.  _ Tardif would give him all that and more as the Highwayman’s pants slid down with his underbriefs and left his scrawny ass perked in the space between them. Slowly, the Bounty Hunter ran a palm over it, feeling the supple flesh of his tanned cheek give to Tardif’s grip, watching the way it indented when he gave it a rough squeeze. The rogue’s legs were shaking, as if expecting --

_ Slap. _

It wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t unwanted, either, when Tardif pulled his palm back to smack it back down on Dismas’ flank. Again and again, he wound back and punished the trembling asscheek until Dismas was crying out with each sharp  _ clap  _ that echoed in the room. 

_ Gods be damned,  _ but it was a sight, seeing the vile brigand arch his ass with every harsh stroke of his cheek, which was now welted red to match his face. It made Tardif turn to the silent priest, watching on and stroking his own arousal, brows still knitted and face a soft pink. The look of shameful acceptance, as far as Tardif was concerned.

"You just gonna stand there and watch?"

Tardif’s question seemed to startle the Crusader, as if he hadn’t realized that there were other options besides standing and watching -- which, really, would’ve been fine with Tardif, but the sham of a holy man approached the workbench hesitantly. He looked from Tardif to Dismas, who was still pressed to the tabletop with his back arched. When their eyes met, Tardif noticed the smaller man squeeze his shut and turn his head.

_ Hmph.  _ Embarrassment _. Good _ .

Reynauld swallowed thickly and looked back to Tardif. "What do you want me to do?"

A curt laugh, in the form of a snort, a derisive roll of his eyes, and Tardif answered, " _ Hmph _ . Are you normally this helpless when it's just the two of you?"

The responding glare was made pathetic by reddened cheeks as the Crusader shuffled awkwardly, looking as if he might change his mind entirely of joining the ordeal. Tardif cared not, since it would only mean Dismas would be  _ his  _ to claim in the future again the next time he was struck masochistic after an expedition went south. That being said, imagining the blessed sinner roughing up the Highwayman for once instead of treating the rat like precious glass sent a white hot streak of  _ need  _ welling at the tip of Tardif’s erection.

"I just don't want to hurt him."

Tardif laughed truly this time, a short bark of amusement that made the two other men flinch. "And therein lies the problem,” he reached over to his discarded glove, making sure Dismas was able to see him grab it; based on the way his thighs tensed up, knuckles whitened at the edge of the workbench, Dismas knew full well what was coming.

“Your slut -- ” The harsh  _ slap  _ that echoed in the room was drowned out by the brigand’s moan, and Tardif felt it straight to his gut and further.  _ “Likes --  _ ” Another smack to emphasize his words, another carnal groan to bolster his point. “Being hurt.” A final, resounding  _ slap  _ to Dismas’ quivering backside, and with a satisfied snort, Tardif turned and handed Reynauld the glove, who took it slowly. “You try."

The holy prig was hesitant, looking from the glove to his lover’s reddened cheek still perked in the air, and swallowed. Tardif was  _ not  _ a patient man, but he would be for this, watching with a smirk as the Crusader’s saccharine idea of love and affection came crumbling down around him in the form of sweat-stained air and painful groans. 

Slowly, Reynauld set his jaw, pulled back, and -- a dull  _ thwack  _ followed, barely more than a love pat, and Tardif rolled his eyes in disapproval.

“I can’t bring myself to hurt him,” the faux priest answered to the silence lamely. 

Tardif lost his patience then, strode to Dismas’ side and roughly grabbed him by the hair, craning the smaller man’s thin neck back far enough that he winced. With his other hand, Tardif took him by the chin to angle it up at them and asked, “Do you want your Crusader to hurt you?”

There were tears in those muddy eyes, a heated flush that had nothing to do with the rough treatment blooming on tan cheekbones, and slowly, Dismas nodded. “I can take it, Rey,” the rogue swallowed, and Tardif watched the thick Adam’s apple bob in his punished throat, long and exposed and nearly elegant as it curved with the force of Tardif’s grip. The blood that had fallen from his split lip had long since dried and darkened on his chin, and Tardif swiped a thumb over it appreciatively, watching the way it cracked and splintered at his touch. 

“Let the pain come.”

With satisfaction hot in his gaze, Tardif glanced back up to Reynauld and released the thief’s hair, letting him press his forehead back to the workbench under the illusion of hiding his shame.  _ Hmph.  _ Let him. He would have plenty more shame to add to the pile once Tardif was done with them both.

“Loud and clear to me.”

It was obvious now what role the Crusader played in their ‘relationship’ -- the top with no power, who doted on his partner’s needs to a sickening extent at the cost of his own dignity. It filled Tardif with a perverse eagerness to see if Reynauld could meet  _ these  _ needs as well.

He seemed to understand that, too, as his next spank was less tentative this time; there was a bite to the sound and Dismas hissed through his teeth. 

“Again.” 

Reynauld glanced up at the order, brows furrowed as if considering disobeying, and Tardif had to suppress a shudder when he  _ didn’t.  _ When he smacked Dismas’ ass once more, took a deep breath, switched cheeks, and did it again with a loud  _ clap  _ that echoed through the empty workshop. Tardif nodded in approval and felt that familiar heat at his apex, throbbing in his cock and darkening his eyes as he watched Reynauld punish the Highwayman’s ass.

“ _ Fuck,  _ Rey,” Dismas hissed again, the wood beneath his face dark with shed tears.

The glove halted, then, and for a moment Tardif was ready to berate the other man for backing out until he saw the look on Reynauld’s face. He looked…  _ wild _ , almost. Eyes hard and thick brows cut in a frown, mouth parted with each harsh breath, the barest glint of teeth as he tried to keep in control. A man consumed by lust, possessed by a dark fervor. 

Tardif palmed at himself, smirking and hot at the sight of Reynauld succumbing to the rush, to the heady control that came with subjugating the likes of Dismas. As if on cue, Dismas huffed a laugh and turned to look at him over his shoulder, then spoke with a shaky voice. 

“Tired already, old man?”

A set jaw, a low growl, and the Crusader smacked the red prints on the rogue’s ass, jolting him forward with the force of it. “Eyes down and legs open, Dismas.”

As surprised as they both seemed to be by Reynauld’s sudden command, Dismas was quick to resume his typical obstinate sneer -- especially being so afflicted and broken, the masochistic streak only barbed his sharp tongue further. “And if I  _ don’t _ ?” It was teasing, daring, and Tardif wouldn’t stand for it. 

When Reynauld faltered, Tardif took his position behind Dismas with a rough shove and grabbed Dismas by the collar, as if handling a misbehaving kitten, and yanked him to standing. 

“Then we go back to you cleaning my boots while we jerk off on you.” 

With the scrawny Highwayman’s pants lowered to his knees, it belied any resistance Dismas feigned to Tardif’s rough treatment, his wrinkled shirt doing nothing to conceal his twitching cock. Still, he tried, and the nonchalance  _ burned  _ that feral need in Tardif.

“Feck off,  _ lout _ , I’ve done worse in an opium den.” The brigand’s bluster was cut short when Tardif’s blunt fingertips grazed a pert nipple beneath Dismas’ shirt, and Dismas shuddered against him, sucking in a breath at the nearly-tender touch. It was short lived as Tardif pinched and  _ twisted,  _ causing Dismas’ knees to buckle and his head to be thrown back against the Bounty Hunter’s chest. The outlaw’s back arched, inadvertently pressing the curve of his ass to Tardif’s hard outline as Tardif squeezed and rolled that small nub between his thumb and forefinger. Dismas clawed his hands against Tardif’s thick forearms, as if he thought to stop him, but he knew Dismas wouldn’t  _ dare _ .

He could feel the groan that lurched through the smaller man’s chest, bobbing that bruised Adam’s apple, could see the sweat gathered at the man’s shaved temples. 

A sudden overwhelming, irritating urge had Tardif leaning in, breathing out a sharp breath before he licked that slick patch of skin, tongue running against the stubble of Dismas’ short hair. The taste of the smaller man filled his senses, salty and astringent and strangely  _ addictive.  _

If it wasn’t for the small gasp from those bloodied lips, the stiffness in those slight shoulders, the shiver Tardif could feel crawling down Dismas’ spine, still pressed to his chest, he might have lost himself. 

Instead, he leaned down far enough to take the shell of the thief’s ear between his teeth and  _ bit,  _ not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to smother whatever strangeness hovered between the two after Tardif’s lapse in depravity. His other hand brought Dismas’ hips close with a bruising grip and rolled his own hips forward to grind his aching erection against that bare, punished ass. Shameless, Dismas arched back again and gave a wanton moan. 

Voice husky, Tardif continued to rut against him, sliding the outline of his bulge up and down the cleft of Dismas’ ass as if to fuck into him then and there. “ _ You filthy slut,” _ he breathed, biting down the Highwayman’s long, abused neck between broken, needy sentences. “The entire Hamlet’s going to know what I’m doing to you.”

To prove his point, Tardif moved across the plain of Dismas’ chest to his other nipple and twisted again, unforgiving, smirking at the cry of pain that followed and echoed in the room.

“You screamed louder than any of my other bounties last time, too,” Tardif huffed a laugh hotly across Dismas’ cheekbone and watched him shiver in response, all the while still fucking into the soft give of the Highwayman’s ass.

Across the table, the onlooking priest cleared his throat.  _ “Last time? _ ”

Dismas cracked his dirt-colored eyes open at the Crusader’s tone, brows upturned in either embarrassment or need or both, and drew in a breath as if caught in a scandal. Tardif watched him suck his bruised bottom lip between his teeth and chew it anxiously, like he was trying to decide what to say, and Tardif snorted and answered for him.

“You mean, your precious  _ toy _ \-- ” Tardif gave a rough, almost possessive roll of his hips for emphasis. “Didn’t tell you how much he already needed my cock some months ago?”

He glanced up at Reynauld, gauging his reaction, eager for either defiance or acceptance regardless; the Crusader’s back was straighter, eyes narrowed in a glare once more, but pants still pitched tight as he watched Tardif’s hand curl from Dismas’ jutting hip bone to --

“ _ Fuck!”  _ The sound that came from Dismas’ throat was pathetic, almost a begging whine, as Tardif caught the thief’s neglected prick in his palm and gave it a slow, lazy stroke from base to tip. A satisfied smirk lit something greedy in Tardif’s eyes at the sound, fanning the flame of that feral beast within that wanted to  _ claim  _ every inch of Dismas in all the ways he was forbidden to and more. Reynauld watched on, frown parted in an audible exhale at the pleading sounds coming from his writhing partner on every stroke.

"Tardif. We were supposed to  _ both  _ partake," Reynauld all but growled. It only served to quicken his languid movements, which caused Dismas to groan again. 

The thief was lost, mouth wide to accommodate the pitiful noises wrenched from his throat, legs shaking and weight limp against Tardif’s strong front. He could feel the heavy thrum of Dismas' heartbeat beneath the hand still torturing his nipples, a bird in a cage fluttering at Tardif's will as he held the smaller man up. It felt… surprisingly  _ intimate _ for the Bounty Hunter’s tastes, but he wasn't complaining while he was high on the heady authority of staring Reynauld in the eyes as he did so.

Honestly, the little brigand was so slick with pre-cum that Tardif didn't even need to spit to glide his hand along Dismas' cock, who started to thrust into that wet palm in time with Tardif's wrist. 

Tardif was half-tempted to finish him off then and there, if for nothing else than to spite the holy man standing across the table, but he couldn’t deny the small part of him that relished unwinding Dismas at the seams like this. His little gasps in time with every drag of Tardif’s hand, the way his hips stuttered everytime Tardif thumbed his cockhead, drawing out and dipping through every drop that leaked past that slit. 

He  _ might  _ have, might have pumped the orgasm from the man’s very core against either of their wills, if not for Dismas squeezing his eyes shut and whimpering a single word.

“ _ Reynauld. _ ”

A pang of sudden anger laced with something Tardif didn’t care to acknowledge stilled his hand then, and Dismas let out a frustrated groan at the interruption.  _ Tch.  _ The thug had only himself to blame as Tardif stepped back, removing all support he offered the Highwayman, hands moving and forcing Dismas around, then dug into his shirt until it came open at the buttons and was tugged off.

“If you want to ‘ _ partake _ ’,” Tardif grumbled, voice harsh and hands harsher as he shoved the brigand flat against the workbench. “Then hold him down.” It was a simple enough command, but Tardif wasn’t surprised when Reynauld faltered for a moment, looking for what to grab, then eventually settled on holding Dismas’ thin wrists flat against the table. Dismas wriggled, dark nipples perked into tiny nubs now exposed to the air, tan skin flush with apparent lust as he craned his neck to watch as Tardif yanked his pants down from his ankles. 

If he were being honest, Tardif was surprised not to get a foot to the face as he stripped off the last of Dismas’ clothes; the smaller man must have been more eager than he cared to let on.

Naked and sprawled and semi-restrained, slick cock leaking against his concave stomach, hip bones jutting and chest rising harshly, Dismas was a fucking  _ sight.  _

Tardif couldn’t help but lean down, then, large hands pinning Dismas’ hips to the wooden table in case he dared grind himself to completion early, and brought his hot mouth to that peaked nipple at his right side. He lapped at it, unsurprised when he felt Reynauld shift and do the same to the other, and savored the way Dismas jerked and writhed beneath their two mouths. Absently, Tardif knew that Reynauld was kind and tender with his kisses on one side, while Tardif rubbed the sensitive skin sharply against the edge of his teeth with his tongue on his own side.

Dismas didn’t seem to mind either one, as he somehow managed to wiggle his hands free and dig them into both of the men’s hair, urging them on; Reynauld must have been lax with his grip, the  _ sappy git _ . Somehow, Tardif wasn’t surprised, wasn't upset, and didn’t stop the way his thumb roamed to Dismas’ apex, the throbbing velvet of his dick and traced the length of it up to the tip.

A sob tore through the smaller man’s chest that they both felt as Tardif teased the slit with his rough thumbpad, back and forth. 

They stayed like that for a moment, the two men showering Dismas’ chest in sweet kisses and needy bites, until Dismas eventually broke and begged, “Please. Someone  _ please  _ fuck me.”

That was all Tardif needed to lean back with a pop of his wet mouth, like he was uncorking a fine wine, thumb still sliding that slick expanse of Dismas’ twitching erection as his other hand dug into his own pockets. In one of the many pant pockets, Tardif found his cheap sword oil, the kind he bought in bulk on sale -- not to polish his steel, but for occasions such as  _ this _ . He wouldn’t waste it on his Widowmaker, but it seemed worthy enough for the likes of Dismas, who should be counting his lucky stars that Tardif was so thoughtful in the first place.

Reynauld caught on quickly and resumed his position with his large hands clamped around Dismas’ wrists -- if not as  _ tightly  _ as Tardif preferred, then so be it.

Something told him the lowly thief wouldn’t resist further, not even for appearances.

Tardif wasn’t gentle.

He coated his fingers up to the final knuckle at his fist, glossed with the cheap oil that dripped down to his wrists in graceful streaks, then lined up the tips of his forefinger and middle finger. There was no need to forcibly spread the brigand’s legs, as Dismas was quick to accommodate him, the mewling whore, quick to part his knees and angle his hips so that they were lifted off the table top, needy as last time in the midst of his affliction.

It left him exposed and gave Tardif all the access he needed to find that puckered ring of muscle, obviously already well-prepared the way it gave to Tardif’s blunt fingertips, but not enough to stop the wanton moan from Dismas’ lips.

There wasn’t a doubt in Tardif’s mind that Reynauld liked to take his time with this when  _ he  _ was in charge, liked to stretch his lover wide with gentle strokes and endless patience.

Reynauld was  _ not _ in charge.

Instead, Tardif didn’t let up after the first knuckles slid through and pressed in further with that same slow, lazy pace he had been jerking the Highwayman off to earlier. Like he was unphased by the way Dismas begged for more, like he didn’t notice the way that tight entrance pulled his fingers further,  _ deeper,  _ as if greedy all on its own, like he didn’t notice the priest catch his breath while watching.

When Tardif eventually bottomed out against his broad knuckles, he worked those walls within Dismas’ ass impatiently, half tempted to fit in the rest of his fist while the Crusader watched on. 

_ Maybe next time,  _ he thought distantly, enjoying the way Dismas furrowed his thin brows, a sheen of sweat all along that lithe, tan body as it took in Tardif’s two thick fingers. With a slight curve to his buried digits, Tardif pulled out, consumed by the way Dismas reacted to that pressure, reacted to his prostate momentarily being pet. His body arched up against the restraints of Reynauld’s hands, hips jerking into Tardif’s hand forcefully, wordlessly demanding more. 

Tardif would give him more than he could handle. 

Before Dismas could say anything to ruin his mood, Tardif angled a third finger in as well, pushing in with a persistent force, feeling the way Dismas clenched around him.

After a few generous thrusts, Tardif pulled back out and, with more finesse and forethought than he cared to admit, lined the tip of his pinky up with that tight hole, slick and just barely squeezing down on all four fingers. He managed to look away from the sight of Dismas taking four of his large fingers, and shuddered when he met Dismas’ heated gaze.

It was full of need, need for  _ him,  _ and something about that salacious stare, eyes squinted and dark with lust, lips parted and throat bobbing, had Tardif groaning along with Dismas as he pushed  _ in  _ with his fingers.

“ _ Gods above _ ,” the Highwayman cried out, spine lifting off the table as his body was intruded slowly, obscenely. Knowing Reynauld, it was probably more than Dismas had ever taken, and Tardif’s eyes flicked up to the priest at the lewd thought -- the Crusader was still restraining Dismas’ wrist, but in doing so, seemed to restrain himself as well. His hips gave a subtle jerk forward with them, as if needing some kind of relief, while his half-lidded eyes watched Tardif slide in with four fingers.

Once again, Tardif curled his fingers as he pulled back out, pressing into that taut bundle of nerves deep within Dismas with an unforgiving slowness. Eventually, he quickened his pace, thrust by thrust, angling his wrist so that he grazed Dismas’ prostate with every push and pull of hot, slick skin. 

Dismas’ face was contorted in a heady mix of pain and pleasure, large nose scrunched and tears pricked at his eyes as he was worked open, and mindless, Tardif groaned, “No less than you deserve, scum.” After a breath, he glanced to Reynauld and asked, “Isn’t that right?”

As if on command, Reynauld nodded shakily, frantically, blue eyes glazed as he watched. “ _ It is _ ,” he gasped, face flushed. “It’s fitting for the likes of you.” 

“I know,” Dismas cried out, every muscle taut and hips moving. “Gods, I  _ know!” _

Tardif’s breath caught when he noticed the way all four digits would create a small bulge in the scrawny Highwayman’s lower stomach -- nothing large but so very  _ obvious  _ against the dip between his hip bones, the way Tardif pressed up with his fingers. Again and again, faster now, that small bump gently outlining Tardif’s movements, in and out and the Bounty Hunter didn’t want to stop, not even when Dismas was begging him to.

“ _ Stop,  _ I’m gonna -- ” Dismas cut off as if he couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted Tardif to relent, straining against Reynauld’s vice grip to watch. “ _ Fuck,  _ I’m close!”

Against his worse judgment, against that frenzied fury he felt like a caged animal nearly getting exactly what it needed, just outside of range, just at his fingertips only to be forced away, Tardif stopped with a snarled grunt. He let his fingers slide out of Dismas’ punished ass, freshly slicked and opened for him, then yanked his own breeches down to lather his cock in oil.

While Dismas came down from the brink of his impending orgasm, and while Reynauld was bowed over to catch his breath, Tardif jerked himself hard, hand too tight and fingers still warm. He was already straining and dripping, fully erect just from watching Dismas take all four fingers as deep as he could and knowing Reynauld was helpless to stop it -- not that the priest seemed to  _ want  _ to. It jolted Tardif right to his core, edged him too close to that looming euphoria, knowing that Reynauld was just as complicit in watching Tardif unwind Dismas with rough, demanding fingers. 

Reynauld  _ wanted  _ this as well, and Tardif could have came from the thought.

"I showed you what that mouth of his is good for, priest," Tardif ground out with a halting voice, nodding down at the prone man who caught on quick and glanced back up at Reynauld. If they were both to ' _ partake _ ' as Reynauld had insisted, Tardif wanted to be there for every part of it and felt a thrill as Reynauld let go of Dismas' to work at his pants. The Bounty Hunter then huffed a laugh when he saw the way Reynauld's hands shook, too eager to figure out the laces, the way the Crusader flushed when Dismas had to reach up and undo the straps and laces for him. 

...It was a surprisingly  _ tender  _ moment amidst the pain and degradation, and Tardif felt that same strange pang of frustration from earlier that made him look away, as if he were intruding. As if he were the unwelcomed voyeur tainting their honeyed affections. 

Naturally, Tardif was startled when he felt legs wrap around his waist, thin and muscled -- surely from all the prancing about the fop did while in battle. Dismas was watching him, eyes keen and clouded all at once, glaring at Tardif for his hesitance. Irritated, desperate, Tardif clutched the brigand’s thighs and parted them further, sinking between them as if Dismas were made for him. He lined himself up right as Reynauld tilted Dismas' head back, just barely dangling off the edge of the workbench, splaying the Highwayman open for them both. 

Whatever sound Dismas might have cried out as Tardif pressed in was lost around Reynauld’s girth as they took him at once from either side of the table.

Tardif froze, body taut and strained into stillness, as was Reynauld. The tension hung like a physical thing, a single heartbeat that thrummed with anticipation, warm and electric in the air between them. Dismas’ back was arched off the table, bruised throat exposed, wrists held in place by the Crusader and legs held in place by Tardif. 

A long moment passed of held breaths and unsteady knees before the Bounty Hunter finally looked up to Reynauld, who met his hot-blooded gaze and nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly. 

When they simultaneously started moving, Dismas didn’t stop the full body moan as he took them both at once, legs flexed wide around Tardif’s middle as his toes curled and long neck strained from the angle of sucking in Reynauld’s massive prick. He heard Reynauld’s groan echo the thief’s, and Tardif was lost in them both. It took a moment for the two men to find a similar rhythm, with the holy man almost shyly taking Dismas’ mouth, while Tardif wasted no time in pulling out of that mind-numbing pressure, then forcing back in.

Whether or not the Highwayman wanted it slower or harder, rougher or softer, his autonomy was lost, stilled at his hands and hips, silenced by the cocks pounding into his mouth and ass. Watching Reynauld inch further past Dismas’ lips, gentle in comparison to how Tardif had fucked the brigand’s filthy mouth open earlier, was second only to the glide of his own slick shaft sliding in deep. 

Everywhere he looked, from Dismas’ bruise-kissed neck, to his peaked nipples, to his slut mouth full of cock and down to Tardif’s own unrelenting rhythm, pounding him and bobbing Dismas’ leaking erection strained against his underfed stomach --

\-- it was almost too much for him.

His mind was blinded blank from that white-hot pressure, the build up in his gut that he sought within Dismas’ spread legs. 

“ _ Gods be good, _ ” Reynauld nearly whimpered when he broached what Tardif knew to be that tight tunnel of Dismas’ throat. He watched the man’s hips stutter, then backed off as if afraid of hurting his precious sinner and Tardif nearly scoffed until he saw the way Dismas rubbed tender circles against Reynauld’s hand, which still pinned him to the table. As if to comfort the priest while Reynauld supposedly held all the power; it might have ruined Tardif’s illusion of control if he didn’t find it so damn  _ endearing. _

To further assure the point, Tardif snorted and said, “Your  _ sweetheart  _ can take it.”

Reynauld’s glacier eyes, now darkened with lust, flicked up to meet Tardif’s as he hitched his breath, nodded again, then pressed  _ in,  _ buried himself in Dismas’ throat without looking away, and Tardif was once again momentarily unhinged by the sheer…  _ intimacy  _ of it. Of their eye contact, of the way Dismas arched and writhed between them, full of them both, of the steady rhythm they nearly matched thrust for thrust. 

It was a visceral thing, Reynauld watching him as he fucked deeper into Dismas’ throat. Something primal, something private, something  _ his --  _ a moment shared, burning Tardif alive, and he was lost to it. 

With a shuddering moan, bowed over, face contorted, Reynauld finally looked away, eyes down and focused on the lump he had forced down Dismas’ open mouth, deep enough that the tip of his erection bulged in his throat. Moments later, Tardif saw his entire body stiffen, mouth affixed in a wordless shout that outlined the creases in his face, pulled at the scars cut in his cheeks, furrowed his thick brows upward and wrinkled the corners of his eyes as he came.

A carnal sound echoed in the room, pushing Tardif harder and closer to his own climax, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight of Reynauld pumping his orgasm straight down Dismas’ throat. Only now did Tardif realize Dismas had streaks of tears down his face once more, unable to speak or breathe or even swallow, and he gripped Reynauld’s wrists with white knuckles as he took it all at once.

Tardif squeezed the clenched muscles of Dismas’ thighs as if to comfort him, knowing they’d be just as bruised as the rest of the man, and shifted the small brigand’s hips, angling them up without pulling him from Reynauld as Tardif adjusted them. 

He fucked in earnest then, already so close to the edge that his legs shook with the restraint he bit into his tongue until he tasted iron. Mind gone, he let go of one of Dismas’ legs, knowing the Highwayman was wrapped around him like a vice grip, urging Tardif on, and ran the wide palm of his hand down Dismas’ lean body. Under no other circumstances would he ever consider the little thief as anything more than a nuisance, but here, now, under the guise of sweat and cum and minute vulnerability, Tardif relinquished his hate. Relinquished the bitterness and violence and self-loathing that he turned on the lost bounty, traded it for something…

...warm.  _ Affectionate _ , almost. 

Something he would regret later, he was sure, would pretend never happened. Something he could throw into the well of disgust that he stymied with wine and women and  _ wanting _ , a well that simmered on the best of days and overflowed on the worst.

Reynauld looked up at him with sweat in his hair and on his brow and prominent nose, with those deep creases around his mouth turned in the semblance of a wrecked smile. 

Thoroughly drained, he pulled his prick from Dismas’ ruined mouth, split lip having reopened from the force of it, cheeks wet with tears and spit and cum. It was a pretty sight that drove Tardif mad, drove him into Dismas’ spread ass  _ hard,  _ and he worked the angle until he saw Dismas’ spine jolt and Tardif knew he found it.

“Fucking gods _ , there! _ ” Dismas all but shouted. “Right fucking  _ there! _ ”

Tardif obliged him, rhythm messy and needy, vision blurred to anything that wasn’t Dismas thrown back and desperate beneath him in a crescendo of pitched moans. As if he wasn’t fucking him hard enough, the Highwayman gripped Reynauld’s wrists, still pinning him in place for the Bounty Hunter to ravage, and used the Crusader’s weight to push back, meeting Tardif thrust for thrust. His slicked entrance took Tardif in easily now to his very core, causing Tardif’s tight balls to slap the still-red skin of his asscheeks. The feeling made his knees weak, close as he was, and kept pounding against that single spot.

The brigand whore, the thieving slut, the mewling, frantic  _ sod. _

With a gasp, Tardif did the last thing he ever expected to, and grunted Dismas’ name, mindless.

It caught Dismas’ attention, glossed eyes focusing sharply on Tardif’s face, hair wild and lip bleeding and breath lost from his sex-frenzied cries, and Tardif was overcome. Surely the entire Hamlet knew what they were up to by now, but he expected no less from his shameless bounty, sprawled out beneath him.  _ His  _ bounty, whether it could be cashed or not, Dismas was  _ his. _

“I’m -- ” Tardif moved his hands until they gripped the smaller man’s hips, creating another imprint of bruises all along his jutting bones in the shape of his fingertips. 

Marking every inch of him.

He was right there, right on the cusp, he was  _ so fucking close -- _

To his surprise, Dismas stiffened around him first, legs, ass, stomach, his tan body going rigid and flexing, then jerking  _ hard _ as he came without even being touched, hands still trapped and hips still angled. Tardif pistoned through it, fucking that sweet spot as Dismas finished all over himself, slick wads coating his chest up to his neck, gilding those angry bruises in cum. 

A mere whispered word broke past Dismas’ lips through the peak of his climax that finally pushed the Bounty Hunter to his own.

“ _ Tardif…!” _

His mind was white and he bellowed as he came, that singular word pumping his pulse hot and hard in his ears, snapping his hips forward to bury his load in Dismas’ ass. He all but bent the smaller man in half as he rocked into him, grinding in deep as his balls emptied, body taut like a pulled thread about to snap.

When his mind cleared of the hazy fog and his sanity returned to him, he stood there, holding himself up over the brigand, balls deep and hot breaths intermingled. His legs were no longer anchored to Tardif’s waist like a lifeline, but instead draped over Tardif’s arms lazily,  _ familiarly  _ almost. As if this were nothing more than an everyday occurrence. Their skin was hot and wet where they touched, the stink of sex shrouding them in something… fragile. 

Tardif quickly untangled himself, unsettled by the thrumming of his heart that he was sure the vile thief could hear with their too-close proximity. 

He yanked his pants back up, purposefully blind to the mess the three of them had created, together, but not as blind as he’d like to be of the way Dismas’ face sobered from something soft to something hard. Melted back to it’s usual scoff, albeit with newly dried blood on his chin and wantonly dried cum on his neck. 

The harsh clarity that came to him as his masochistic affliction abated. 

Of who he’d been brought low for, driven into the mud by his own insanity for. Of who he’d been fucked by, whose name he had uttered when he was fully unwound. 

It wasn’t  _ shame  _ boiling Tardif’s blood, but it was something close to it. Something equally suffocating that chased him out of this room, back to the tavern, back to the violence and relief outside of the Hamlet. He was sickened with himself. The simpering sod of a holy Crusader was rubbing off on him to make him feel so…  _ smitten.  _ His pants were buttoned and he was equipping his gloves one at a time, clumsy in his haste for escape, but neither Dismas or Reynauld had moved except to rub the bruises covering the thief like a mosaic. 

He might have felt proud, if he weren’t so sobered to reality. He had just fucked the thief, the slippery rat of a lost bounty,  _ again.  _

And he had  _ liked  _ it this time.

The brigand seemed rightfully exhausted, still sprawled out atop the table but now with his shirt gently tucked over him thanks to Reynauld, and after a while -- Tardif had to stop and look over to be sure -- was gently  _ snoring. _ Reynauld had his fingers laced in Dismas’ sweaty hair, playing with the long strands atop his head while he dozed, and glanced up at Tardif who was fumbling with his helmet. He cleared his throat, and Tardif was sure the ruined prig was going to say something scathing, something to dismiss and hurry the Bounty Hunter out the door so he could be alone with his beloved thief.

“You know you can stay, right?”

It was quiet, wary, like offering scraps to a wild dog, but it hit Tardif like a tree trunk-wielding giant anyway and stopped him in his tracks towards the door. 

He bore his helmet now, hiding the furrowed brows beneath, and glanced over his shoulder at the two men he had just thoroughly enjoyed, both as vulnerable as Tardif had ever seen of either, especially around  _ him _ . He shrugged, showing a nonchalance that he didn’t feel. “Would’ve had you pegged as the sort to run me out after.”

Reynauld snorted, eyes never leaving Tardif’s through his helm, all cool blue and  _ alive _ . 

“Then you weren’t paying attention.”

The tone was nearly condescending, which Tardif would have been more comfortable with than whatever shifting feeling passed between the two, interrupted only by Dismas’ soft snoring. “You aren’t begrudging that I fucked your mutt?”

A huff of laughter, then, and Reynauld rolled his obnoxious, stunning eyes. “His needs are my needs.” 

Tardif almost spit to the side, disbelieving but undenying of the strangeness between the three men now. He had watched the way Reynauld took to his advice, rough as it was, listened to Dismas utter Tardif’s name in a whisper, savored the harsh and tender moments shared between the three alike. It was… nice. Tardif would never say as much, would deny it to the grave, but he had felt…  _ wanted,  _ by the end of the night. It was sentimental and pathetic and very much the  _ last  _ thing Tardif ever needed, but remembering the way Dismas brought him close, remembering the heat in Reynauld’s gaze --

He shivered. 

“Perhaps we can do this again, then.  _ Maybe _ .”

Reynauld nodded, a slight smile tugging the corner of his lips as he watched Tardif turn to leave and agreed, “Maybe.”

At that, he headed towards the door of the smithy that they had entered some hours earlier, drunk and horny and angry at each other. There was something irritating and incessant pulling him back, back towards were the other two men lulled in their after-sex calm, the reprieve of cooling skin and gentle touches and softer words. It was a world Tardif might have wanted,  _ maybe,  _ but not a world he could ever justify having.

Especially not when the Blacksmith would be back any minute now, having swiped the keys to the armory from his drunken person after buying him a round as a distraction. Tardif smirked at the thought, secretly glad to know that he wasn’t as much of a sentimental sod as he feared after tonight. The thief and the priest hadn’t gotten to him  _ that  _ much.

Not yet, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Ya know, I started this to "prove" I could write PWP without feelings in the mix, without the slightest whiff of fluff. Well, all I did was prove that I am _incapable_ of doing so. If I write a follow-up, I have more fluff between these three mapped out, plus more double dicking. 
> 
> Big shout out to SeaBassToast for keeping me breathing while I wrote this, and all the other lovely people in the Darkest Dungeon Hornye server who support my depravity. Also, I gave a polite nod to user PTWL in this, 'cause Tardif's kinks span across fics and her fisting fic is superb.


End file.
